You're A Bloody Idiot
by ThePowerOfVoodoo
Summary: When Sherlock goes alone on a case and gets injured, how will John respond? - Yeah I'm shit at summaries. / Rated M because of violent scenes and possible JohnLock in later chapters! Enjoy! :D
1. Chapter 1

_Hello! Thanks for choosing to read my story! :D Just to let you know that this first chapter is just to get the ball rolling a little. I'm pretty new to writing Sherlock, but if you see any mistakes feel free to point them out to me, and I love getting feedback! _

**_Thank you and enjoy!_** **~ Lucy**

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Sherlock Holmes watched as the streets of London passed by the cab window. He was on his way to investigate a location involved with a case he'd been working on for the past week, involving a certain notorious gang of international smugglers. John had to work, so he'd gone alone, though (of course) John had strongly advised against it. He'd insisted that Sherlock would get injured, or lost, or something worse, but of course Sherlock denied all of it. He played with his phone in boredom as he waited for the cab to come to a stop.

Soon enough his patience was rewarded as the cab stopped outside the destination and he jumped out, paying the cabbie before looking up at the vast building in front of him. The warehouse was certainly as old as the records had said. Of course he'd seen photos of it, but they could never compare to how derelict it looked with his own eyes. He saw the broken windows as he made his way over to the door, climbing over the chains that were blocking the entrance. Well, if you could even call it an entrance. More like a hole in the wall. He looked around, and investigated for a good 10 minutes, becoming disappointed when he found nothing at all. All he managed to find was boarded up windows, a few dead rats in the corner and a broken chair. Being so involved with his surroundings, he hadn't even noticed when a hooded, shady man approached him from behind ever so quietly and then whacked him hard over the head with the butt of his rifle. Sherlock fell to the floor with a _thump_, getting knocked out immediately.

John dialled Sherlock's number yet again, and after receiving no answer he nearly threw his phone against the wall. Something was wrong, very wrong, because Sherlock wasn't answering his phone and (even though he was an arsehole most of the time) he _always_ answered his calls.  
"Oh god...Sherlock, you bloody idiot...You went on your own didn't you." He muttered, knowing that he should have been strict and just simply not let him go. He actually scoffed at this; this was Sherlock, he always listened to himself and never other people. After yet another attempt at trying to get a-hold of the detective, John gave up and texted Mycroft.

_Sherlock isn't answering his phone. – JW_

_He's not? That does not sound promising. How long has he been gone? – MH_

_Nearly 12 hours now. – JW_

Meet me at Scotland Yard in 15 minutes, Please. This could be serious. – MH

_Ok. – JW_

As John pressed Send on the last text, he found that an uncomfortable feeling had begun to pool in his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock awoke, his head felt fuzzy and he found that he was tied up to a wall, hanging with his feet just touching the ground. He appeared to be uninjured, although that certainly wouldn't be the case for much longer. He felt like such an idiot for letting himself get knocked out, and also for not being able to fight back although he could still feel his gun in his coat pocket. Good, they hadn't taken that. He appeared to be being held in a smaller room, obviously down a corridor of some sort, and there were multiple boxes and what not in the corners. Sherlock didn't have long to think, however, before he heard movement from outside and in a few moments in barged 3 large men each armed with guns.  
"Sherlock Holmes, right?" the larger of them asked in a rather gruff voice. Sherlock stayed silent, merely glaring at them. They did not like this, it seemed, and the shorter man on the left went over and punched Sherlock hard round the face.

"I'll ask again then...You're Sherlock Holmes?" the man repeated. Sherlock reluctantly looked him in the eye, blood now dripping from his mouth.  
"Yes. You were expecting me, then? Oh, no wait, don't answer that. Of course you were expecting me...This whole thing was a trap." he responded calmly, sighing in frustration at himself. The guy in front of him merely laughed.  
"You're good, but not good enough it seems. Now...We're going to have a little fun." He grinned maliciously and gestured for his two accomplices to wait outside the door. They left, and the door was bolted shut behind them. Sherlock watched the man remaining in the room as he paced around and it was clear that his head was full of air. Judging by his muscled arms, scarred face and short haircut it was clear that he was some kind of mercenary who was working for somebody with a lot of power.

"What exactly do you plan on doing with me? If you want information, then you're not going to get it out of me." Sherlock stated rather angrily. The man turned round and walked right up to the detective who was hanging helplessly on the wall. He brandished a knife from his pocket and held the blade up to Sherlock's cheek, pressing down hard and creating a deep gash. Sherlock couldn't hold back the groan of pain that escaped his lips as the blood dripped down his porcelain cheek.

"Oh, the boss doesn't want information from you. He said I could have some fun with you...and I'm going to do _just. that_."


	3. Chapter 3

"Make some noise, . The Boss would love to hear you."

The whip cracked down on Sherlock's back yet again, creating another deep gash in the skin. The cruel man in question was Sebastian Moran, as Sherlock had found out during his torture. He'd never heard of him before, but he was surely well experienced. Sherlock was hanging, now, facing the wall, coat and jacket thrown to the floor; leaving him in merely his shirt. Of course, now it had been ripped to shreds at the back due to Sebastian whipping him for what seemed to be fun.

"I said...Make. Some. Noise." He followed this with a particularly hard lash at Sherlock's exposed and bleeding back, his eyes flicking to the small hidden camera in the corner of the room for a moment. In response, Sherlock merely tensed up and closed his eyes, teeth gritted. He'd made not one cry of pain since the torture had begun, although it was getting more difficult for him to keep it up. 3 more lashes later, he couldn't hold it in any more and a loud groan of pain escaped his dry lips. Sebastian chuckled darkly, dropping the well used whip to the floor.

"Who...are you working for...?" Sherlock sounded worn, beaten and very unlike himself although he was trying to maintain his speech. Sebastian merely rolled his eyes.

"Why do I think that you already know? And anyway, why the hell would I tell you." He spat the words at the bloodied detective. He went up to Sherlock and quickly turned him round roughly, the open wounds on his back scratching against the hard wall and making him cringe with pain.

"I've been told that you don't _feel_, that nothing can break you, . Although..." he went right up to Sherlock, his lips close to the detective's ear.

"I know your weak spot." The words were whispered and they sent a chill down Sherlock's spine. He didn't reply, only waited. Sebastian smirked, pulling back just a little so that Sherlock could see his face.

"Doctor John Watson, isn't it?" Sherlock's eyes immediately widened and he glared at the blonde haired man. "Ah, you see! Told you." Sebastian laughed and stepped back, admiring the sight of his handiwork.

"Don't you dare even speak of him." Sherlock growled, hands tugging on the ropes holding him. He was angry, sure, because of the worry that was now pooling in his stomach. He was useless here, and if they threatened or hurt John there would be nothing he could do about it.

"I can speak of him all I want, because you can't stop me." Sebastian stepped forward again, getting so close that Sherlock was able to smell the mix of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. Sherlock's face contorted a little and he turned away, but when Sebastian still did not move, he was rewarded with a sharp pain in his groin from Sherlock's knee. Apparently they'd made the mistake of not tying his legs down. Sebastian, it appeared, did not like this and returned the gesture, joined with a hard slap against the detective's face. Sherlock groaned and his head fell forward, fresh drops of blood dripping onto the floor.

"I wouldn't try anything, You can't help yourself this time ." Sebastian smirked and before Sherlock could reply he was punched hard around the face, causing him to be knocked out immediately. Sebastian cracked his knuckles and made for the door, turning to admire the sight before leaving the room, door closing with a click. The consulting detective was left hanging unconscious; his face bruised and bleeding; his back ripped to shreds along with his shirt and his dark hair matted with blood and dirt.


	4. Chapter 4

Back at Scotland Yard, John, Lestrade and Mycroft were discussing in serious tones about Sherlock's sudden disappearance.  
"What if he's dead? O-Or-" Mycroft stopped John halfway through his sentence.  
"John, just calm down." He said firmly.

"Calm down?! Sherlock has been missing for nearly _2 days_ and you're telling me to calm down? He's your brother!" John replied angrily. Mycroft merely resumed pacing the office, not replying to John's comment.

The main reason for John's worry was that he'd called the detective about 6 times, but had received no answer and, though Sherlock was an ass most of the time, he always answered his phone. Feeling drained after having had not much sleep for the past few days, he sighed and sat in one of the two chairs in Lestrade's office.  
"Do you know where he might've gone?" Greg asked, trying to _not_ sound worried. If Sherlock ever got out of this situation alive and found out that he'd been worried, Greg would never hear the end of it. John ran a hand through his hair and let out another ragged sigh.

"Yes, actually. He's working on – or rather _was_ working on – a case involving some gang of drug smugglers. He had an idea that one of the old warehouses was where they were hiding out, so of course he went there. _Alone."  
_Greg nodded. "Right...So, we know where he's gone. That's a start. I'll go out with a few officers and we'll look for him." He stated as if it was a simple task.

"Hang on, Greg. Let me call him again...Won't hurt to try one more time." John pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his phone and finding Sherlock's number. He was desperately trying to hide his slightly shaky hands and his mounting worry. Sherlock was never like this, he'd _never_ been like this. Something was very clearly wrong and John knew it. He pressed the 'Call' button and held the phone up to his ear, taking a deep breath as he heard the painfully slow beeping. He could just feel the other two pairs of eyes burning into him as they watched to see what would happen.

Sherlock let out a loud groan of frustration at his last, vain attempt to get out of the handcuffs he was now in, and had been in for at least 48 hours now. After his rather short but still excruciatingly painful torture session, they had done nothing more to him; only left him to dwell in his own misery by handcuffing him to an old pipe in the corner of one of the smaller store rooms. To add to that, they'd also shot him in his upper right arm for no other reason than they wanted to make him feel some real hadn't been back in a day, but his bruises and wounds were still painful, not to mention his bleeding wrists from where they'd handcuffed him too tightly. The deep gashes on his back had stopped bleeding although they were still painful of course. At that point in time, Sherlock was just grateful that they had given him back his coat, or rather they sort of forced it onto him.

He sighed and let his head fall, beginning to lose the small hope he'd had that he would ever make it out alive. He mentally slapped himself for coming on his own. After a few more moments of quiet, the silence was interrupted by nothing other than his ringing phone. The noise made Sherlock's eyes flash open and he looked down to see a dim light coming out of his coat pocket. How the thing hadn't run out of battery yet he would never know. He desperately shifted around on the floor, ignoring the pain for the time being, and tried to get the phone out of his pocket. After a short while of moving and shifting, he got into a position where he was able to push the device out of his pockets and into his hands. With a sigh of relief he hit the 'Answer Call' and then the Speakerphone button before having to drop the phone onto the floor next to him. Holding it was causing him far too much pain.  
"...Hello?" his voice was dry and hoarse after not being used much in the past 48 hours.

"Oh my god...Sherlock." John replied, heaving a huge sigh of relief at the sound of his voice. Then the panic began to set in. "Are you all right?" he asked quickly.

"No...I uh...I'm injured, in multiple areas." Was all Sherlock could reply with at that time; he didn't want to make John worry even more but at the same time he couldn't lie to him.  
"Jesus...I told you not to go on your own! Why didn't you listen to me?!" he stood from the chair, getting some frantic looks from Mycroft and Lestrade. "Where are you, I'm coming to get you." John asked him whilst grabbing his coat from the hook behind the door.

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry, John, I was an idio-" Sherlock never finished his sentence.

His phone battery died.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys! sorry it's been a while...been busy with shit. Anyway, here's chapter 5. hope you enjoy it! I'll mention that I've decided that John and Sherlock are already together, makes things a little easier. includes hints of Mystrade ;D**

**Enjoy, my lovelies! 3**

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John stopped in his tracks. "Sherlock? Hello? DAMNIT!" he yelled in anger, having to stop himself from simply flinging the damned device at the wall. He turned to Lestrade and Mycroft who were dead silent, watching him and waiting for him to explain. John sighed."He's alive, he's all right. At least I think he is...that's what he told me. His phone battery must have died. I don't even know where the bloody hell he is." John ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

"John do you know what case he was on?" Mycroft asked him suddenly, stepping forward.

John turned to him. "I uh...Something about a group of drug smugglers, I think. How is that going to help?"

"I think I know where he is; because that was a case I gave him. I thought he would be suited to the task, but apparently not..." he leant against the edge of the desk. "If I'm right, which I probably am, he's gone to the warehouse near the river, not too far from Baker Street actually. That's our best bet of finding him." John just stared at him for a moment before finally pulling himself together.

"Right. Then that's where I'm going." He had a firm expression on his face as he turned and headed out the door, however he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"You think you're going on your own?" Greg asked him. "I'll be behind you in a police car with some officers, just in case." John nodded, quickly making his way outside onto the street and flagging down a cab. Mycroft stopped Lestrade by grabbing hold of his hand before he could leave the room.

"Be careful, Greg." The Inspector nodded and gave the older Holmes brother's hand a gentle squeeze before making his way out the door.

John practically yelled at the cabbie where to go once he was in the cab and all the way there he was shaking slightly, taking out his gun and checking it was loaded. He repeated this process a few times like a ritual until the cab arrived at their destination. John wasted no time in jumping out of the car and paying the driver before turning his attention to the large building in front of him. His heart fell slightly. It was a huge place, it could take him hours to find Sherlock, plus it was getting dark already. He sighed, beginning the walk to the same doors that Sherlock had entered through a few days before. John couldn't help but worry; his hands were shaking as they gripped tightly onto his gun. He swallowed hard and whirled round when he heard a noise behind him, gun pointing in front ready to shoot if anybody showed their face. It was no use anyway; the place was far too dark for anything to be seen. And of course, John had forgotten his torch. It was silent except for his footsteps echoing around, so when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket he almost jumped out of his skin. Silently cursing himself, he pulled it out of his pocket, reading the text on the bright screen.

_Outside if you need me, got 2 guys stationed at the door. Yell if something happens. –GL_

John pocketed the device again. That was Greg, always prepared. Surprisingly, he and Mycroft made a perfect couple. You wouldn't think it, considering how different their backgrounds were. The same with Sherlock and John, yet they go together like bread and butter.

John searched for what must have been 20 minutes, and he was just about giving up hope when he heard something that made him jump. It sounded to him like metal clinking against metal. Now curious, he headed in the direction of the sound. It was still pitch black, and he was reduced to using the light from his phone screen to see where he was stepping. The hope he'd had of finding his detective had diminished almost completely and he told himself that the noise was nothing more than a rat scuttling about, or simply the old pipelines cooling and moving.

Sherlock, meanwhile, had been stuck in the dark by himself as he had been for the past day or so. He certainly had given up hope as soon as his phone had died on him and he'd lost contact with the only person he cared about finding him. Desperately he was trying to ignore the rumbling noises his stomach was making from the hunger. It was funny really, normally he wouldn't eat for days on end and now he was starving? Typical. The younger Holmes let his head fall back against the pipes but he immediately perked up when he heard footsteps coming his way. He squinted through the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of who it might be. Was it someone coming to save him? Or was it just his torturer coming back for some more? He didn't know, but he'd soon find out. Finally the person got close enough so that Sherlock could see them and he'd never been so relieved in his entire life. "...John?" he croaked out, voice dry and throat sore from hours without water.

John's heart stopped momentarily when he was able to see the few feet in front of him. "Oh my god...Sherlock." he breathed, immediately running the remaining distance to his partner and dropping down to his knees,, immediately getting to work on undoing the handcuffs on Sherlock's wrists. When he finally managed to get them off with the paperclip he had on his person, he winced at the sight of Sherlock's red raw skin. Once Sherlock felt he was free and he attempted to move, his body just collapsed and he fell onto John,

"I...don't think you know how pleased I am to...see you." Sherlock said weakly, voice muffled by John's clothing. He attempted a smile but failed rather miserably.

John shook his head, taking his hand. "I thought you were dead..." he bit his lip. "What the hell did they do to you, Sherlock." He pulled away and supported Sherlock's weight whilst his eyes travelled to the detective's pale face; cuts and bruises now visible on it. His cheeks were dirty, though there were clean lines down them from where a couple of tears had clearly been spilled due to the pain he'd been in. John's heart wrenched and he had to refrain from breaking down in tears himself.

"You probably d-don't want to know... not yet." Sherlock mumbled; lips dry and chapped.

"Give me a minute, I need to text Lestrade, then I'll get you out of here." he picked up his phone and quickly fired off a text to Greg.

_Call for an ambulance. JW_

It was brief, yes, but clear. John didn't waste any more time and gingerly put his arm under Sherlock's shoulders.  
"This will probably hurt, and I'm so sorry, but you need to help me a little here, Sherlock." John's voice was gentle and he was doing his best to keep calm. Sherlock nodded, bracing himself as he tried to stand up, leaning on John heavily as he did so and when he finally got to his feet he let out a yelp of pain as he attempted to put pressure on his left foot.

"M-My ankle..." he mumbled. It was clear he was finally losing the last of his strength. John shushed him gently and continued to support a lot of his weight as he helped him outside. The journey back to the door (or at least the opening in the front of the building) seemed a hell of a lot longer than it had before. John felt the man over his shoulders beginning to slump even more.

"Hang on, love...Just a bit further." John said gently, finally being able to see the door he came through and by some miracle, he saw the ambulance lights flashing outside. _'Thank god...'_ he thought to himself. Sherlock was using all the strength he had left to get outside. When the two of them finally got there, a group of paramedics was already waiting for them and John rushed over to them as quickly as he could, assisting Sherlock in getting onto the stretcher they had ready.

Sherlock winced in pain at the wounds on his back which John still didn't know about. Well, he'd probably find out later, for one reason or another. One of the paramedics put an oxygen mask on him as he was becoming a little delirious and faint. He faded in and out of consciousness as people moved around him, and before he knew it he was being lifted up into the ambulance.

"...J-John..." he mumbled through the mask on his face. The ex-army doctor immediately rushed to his side, ignoring the paramedic who he'd pushed out of the way. He grabbed Sherlock's hand tightly. "I'm here, Sherlock, I'm here." He assured him. Sherlock got lifted into the ambulance and Lestrade gave John a look that said 'I hope everything is okay' before John followed Sherlock into the ambulance, trying to rid himself of the thought that everything might _not_ be okay. Still, for the whole ride to the Hospital, he clutched onto Sherlock's hand and willed that his detective would be all right.


	6. Chapter 6

The journey to the hospital seemed to drag on for hours, or at least that's how it felt to John. He clutched Sherlock's hand as if it was a lifeline, and as for Sherlock himself? Well, he drifted in and out of consciousness for the entire trip, occasionally murmuring the word "John..." to which John would reply; "I'm right here, Sherlock." Or something of the like. The couple of paramedics that were in the back of the ambulance with them were fussing round Sherlock, tending to the bullet wound in his arm temporarily until they reached the hospital. John had to refrain from yelling instructions at them; old habits from his army days. So he remained silent, merely watching as the medical team did their jobs.

When the ambulance finally stopped, John let out a sigh of relief and jumped out of the van as Sherlock was lifted from it by 2 paramedics. They proceeded to begin wheeling the stretcher into the hospital with John following as quickly as he could. Once they were inside, John was forced to release Sherlock's now rather limp hand as he had to be taken to the operating theatre. The medics had discovered that the bullet was in fact still in Sherlock's arm and had to be removed surgically, since it had been sitting there for a day or two. John had been told that he would have to remain in the waiting room, though he'd attempted to use his 'I'm an army Doctor' excuse. Sadly for him, it didn't work and he reluctantly took a seat in the empty room, tapping his foot with impatience. An hour or two must have passed and John was still waiting in the same chair; hands locked together under his chin and foot still tapping away on the hard floor. He glanced down at his watch and found that it was midnight.

"John Watson?" a nurse had silently walked into the room, clipboard in hand. John's head snapped up when he heard his name and he stood immediately. "Yes?" he responded, hoping what she was about to tell him would be good news.  
"Mr Holmes is going to be fine, in fact he's just been moved to a private room of his own just down the corridor. You can go and see him, though I expect he won't be awake for a good few hours yet." John nodded. He thanked the nurse and went off in the direction of the room she had gestured to. However he stopped when he heard his name again.

"Mr Watson? I forgot to mention that the wounds on his back are going to scar, I'm afraid. There's nothing we can do to help that." She explained to him. John didn't do or say anything for a moment, and then nodded again before continuing on his way. _'Wounds on his back...?' _he thought to himself, a little confused for a moment. He supposed he'd find out about Sherlock's other injuries later on.

It didn't take him too long to reach the door of Sherlock's room and he quietly turned the handle, letting the door swing open before stepping inside the room. His eyes rested on Sherlock's limp sleeping form in the white hospital bed; an IV line was trailing from under his shirt and John assumed it was pumping some kind of drug into Sherlock's system. Whatever it was it appeared to be doing its job. As the door clicked shut quietly, John made his way over to the chair beside the bed and sat down, placing his hands under his chin whilst he watched as Sherlock slept. He found it somewhat reassuring to know that his detective was finally in some form of peace, unlike earlier when he had been rather distraught.

"Why didn't you listen to me, Sherlock..." he muttered to himself, a sad look on his face. John blamed himself for what had happened because if he'd made more of an attempt at stopping Sherlock from going on the case then they wouldn't be in this position. There was also the issue of asking Sherlock what had happened and getting the full story, including how he'd obtained the wounds on his back. In all honesty, John had already guessed most of it. He wasn't an idiot. Still he shook the thought from his head and tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he could, but all of a sudden he was finding it extremely difficult for him to keep his eyes open and he fell asleep in the chair.

It was early morning when Sherlock began to stir from his sleep. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking to adjust to the light of the room. He lay still for a long while, letting his brain process thoughts and trying to remember what had happened when suddenly it all came flooding back to him. The case, the blindingly painful torture, the insistent pain he'd had to bear for days all on his own, John- _'John.'_ He thought, and then he became aware of the presence of somebody else in the room. He tilted his head to the left and saw John asleep in the (what looked uncomfortable) chair close to the bed.

John had always been a light sleeper, ever since his army days that is, and so the movement of Sherlock in the bed woke him. He rubbed his eyes before sitting up straight and locking his own tired eyes with Sherlock's.

"'Morning." He said with a small smile, stretching a little to rid himself of the stiffness in his back. "How do you feel?" he asked, not sure what else to say.

"Better than I did yesterday." He examined John's face, taking note of how utterly exhausted he looked. "I think you look worse than I do, and that's quite an achievement." Glancing down, Sherlock noticed John's hand still resting next to his and he covered it with his own, also noting the pain the movement caused in his upper arm. _'Right...Bullet wound'._

"Yeah, well you've got the mixture of staying up for almost 2 days worrying about you and then having to spend all night in a hospital..." John sighed, leaning forward slightly and turning his hand to hold Sherlock's, giving it a light squeeze. There was silence for a few moments and then Sherlock couldn't hold anything in for any longer.

"I'm sorry, you know; sorrier than I've been for anything in my entire life. I should have listened to you...to be honest I don't _know_ why I didn't listen to you." He for some reason began to find it difficult to look John in the eyes and so averted his gaze downwards, staring at their locked hands.

"I know why you didn't listen to me. It's because you're a bloody idiot, that's why." Sherlock looked back up at John only to find he was smiling; though it was one of those happy/sad smiles.

"You're not...?" Sherlock began his sentence.

"Angry? Yes, I'm angry. But that feeling has long since gone. Sherlock...I'm just relieved you're still breathing." John felt tears welling in his eyes. Why? Well he didn't really know. Relief? Happiness? Sadness? It was more likely a mixture of all three. Sherlock nodded in response.

"Thank you for...well, you know..." Again, he trailed off sheepishly.

"Saving your life? Yeah, you owe me one." John managed a smile and his free hand travelled to Sherlock's cheek, his thumb stroking along the man's cheekbone before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Sherlock leaned up into it slightly, being careful not strain himself.

"Yes...I definitely owe you one."


	7. AN: A little note! :)

**This is just a little note from me, I'd appreciate it if you read!**

hello everyone.

So, as you can see, this is indeed _not_ another chapter.

I'm afraid that for the time being, I'm not gonna be working on this fanfiction all that much as I've got a lot going on. I was on holiday last week and I've got a few exams coming up too, so I'm pretty busy.

I have not given up on this though! I have every intention of carrying on with it, and I've even got another chapter started! I hope you can understand that life is indeed busy and I can't spend all of it writing fanfiction, as much as I would like to.

I'll also take this opportunity to say thank you to every single one of you who has stuck with me on this story and to anyone who has read part or all of it. It means so much to me! 3

I'll repeat that I certainly **have ****not**** given up on this. **

Thank you for reading, catch ya later!

- Lucy (ThePowerOfVoodoo)


	8. Chapter 7

_**I'm so sorry for the long delay, but as I said in the A/N I posted, I've been busy with exams recently. Finally back onto this!**_

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It had been a whole day since Sherlock had been stuck in the hospital and John had been there with him for the entire time. He was waiting outside Sherlock's room with a hot cup of coffee between his hands and pacing slowly up and down the empty corridor. Greg had left a couple of hours previously and when John looked at his watch he noted that the time was 7pm. He'd been wanting to talk to Sherlock about what had happened ever since he'd found him but he'd purposely left it because he knew the man needed his rest, whether he wanted it or not. Now, however, he was just getting impatient and anxious about what it would be like to hear the story from Sherlock's point of view. John left it another half hour before he couldn't take the waiting anymore. He threw his empty coffee cup in the bin and went to the door to Sherlock's room, opening the door quietly.

"John, are you going to come inside or are you going to stand in that corridor for the rest of your life?" came the sound of Sherlock's voice. John rolled his eyes and stepped into the room. Sherlock was sat up in the bed and gave John a quick smile as he entered the room. "I assume you have questions, yes?" John half ignored him, walking over to the chair next to the bed and sitting down in it with a sigh.

"How do you feel?" he asked in a gentle voice. Sherlock sighed in response.

"Marvellous." He replied; voice laced with sarcasm. "Really, John, I don't mind you wanting to talk to me about what happened." John looked up at him.

"Are you sure? I don't want to if it'll be difficult for you, it's just...well there's only so much the police can figure out." Sherlock nodded in response and without hesitating any longer, he told John everything, to the last detail of course. He seemed to find it difficult recalling his short lived – but still extremely painful – torture session with Sebastian Moran. John felt himself getting very angry at the fact it was all, seemingly, done for amusement, entertainment.

"I was told you had wounds on your back. Now I know why they're there." John said sadly. "They told me that you're going to have scars. They'll fade, but...still" Sherlock merely shrugged.

"It doesn't bother you that this was what he wanted? To leave a mark, so you'll constantly be reminded of it." John sighed, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. "I swear to god, Sherlock, when I find him-"

"You'll kill him?" Sherlock finished his sentence for him. "No, you won't, because _that_ is exactly what he wanted. Revenge isn't the answer to everything, John." The detective's voice was surprisingly calm. John looked up at him again, staying silent for a few moments.

"You're right, sorry. I haven't slept much, I suppose it's taking its toll." he sighed again and leant back in the chair.

"Then would you go home and get some sleep? You look worse than I do." Sherlock pointed out with a smile. "No, don't argue with me John." He added quickly just as John opened his mouth to say something. "Go back to the flat and get some rest. I'm sure Mrs Hudson is worried." John looked at him for a few moments, and then finally gave in and stood up, pulling on his jacket.

"All right, all right...I'll see you again tomorrow. Would you please not annoy any of the staff?"

"No promises." Sherlock replied with a smile.

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**_Ugh, sorry this was kinda short and not the most exciting thing in the world, but it was a necessary scene to happen for the story. I promise the next chapter will be a little more exciting! Thanks for sticking with me 3_**


	9. Chapter 8

It had been two weeks since Sherlock had been rescued from that god-awful storage warehouse, and he'd finally been let out of the hospital. Well, Sherlock had been claiming he was fine to go for nearly the whole time he'd been in there, but of course John hadn't let him. Now though, Sherlock was sitting in a cab next to John for the first time in what felt like months, though of course it had only been a matter of weeks. John looked across at Sherlock in the back of the taxi.

"Bet you're glad to be out of that hospital." He said.

"Well done, John, Your deduction skills really are exquisite." Sherlock glanced across at John and gave him a smile.

"Hm, I see the sarcasm hasn't left you." John smiled back and turned to look back out of the window. Within 10 minutes, the two of them had arrived back at Baker Street and Sherlock couldn't help but give a small smile as he stepped out of the car and saw his front door. John paid the driver and Sherlock proceeded pulled a bag with his clothes in out of the back of the cab. He winced and stiffened up slightly as he slung it over his shoulder as he was still slightly sore and sporting a limp.

"No, No, I've got that." John took the bag from him.

"Really, John, you can't do everything for me for the rest of my life."

"For now, then." John replied. Sherlock proceeded to lead the way up the steps and opened the front door, allowing John inside first. He stepped inside afterwards, closing the door behind him and taking a deep breath, simply smelling the familiar air. Mrs Hudson appeared to be out, as the noise of her TV that was usually on could not be heard. He expected that he would be hugged numerous times by her later on. John was already halfway up the stairs at this point and Sherlock followed him. He was leaning more on the stair banister than he usually did because of his still healing injuries and it took him a bit longer to get up all of them. John waited for him at the top and stepped aside to let him in the flat first. Sherlock sighed in relief as he saw the familiar surroundings for the first time in two weeks and John followed him inside, dropping the bags on the floor with a sigh.

"Right...Want a cuppa?" John asked him. Sherlock shook his head.

"No, Thanks...I think I just want to sit down." He smiled and sat down on the sofa, right beneath the smiley face which he'd shot into the wall. He let out a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment, only opening them again when he felt John sit next to him. He turned his head to look at the man next to him.

"As much as I _have_ missed being at home, there's something I've missed more." John looked up at him, slightly intrigued.

"Oh, Really? What would tha-" he got cut off when Sherlock suddenly leaned down and kissed him, rather passionately. John was taken by surprise and he pushed Sherlock off him gently.  
"Sherlock, You've still got injuries that are healing. You're going to strain yourself." John told him firmly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'll be careful." He smirked and locked his mouth to John's again, and this time the shorter man simply gave in. After all, it had been a while since he'd done this properly as well. John shifted so he was sitting closer to the detective and his hands found his way into Sherlock's dark curls.

"...Bedroom?" John mumbled against Sherlock's lips.

"We've only been back 5 minutes" he grinned. "But yes, I was rather hoping you would offer."


	10. Chapter 9

The journey to Sherlock's bedroom was one of pulling and biting and tugging off items of clothing. By the time the two men actually got through the door they were both just in their trousers, with Sherlock's belt buckle already hanging undone. Sherlock's lips were attached to John's neck as they stumbled towards the bed, and somehow Sherlock managed to kick off his trousers on the way there. When John's legs hit the edge of the bed, the two men went tumbling down onto it with Sherlock on top. John pulled Sherlock up the bed into a more comfortable position and the lean detective straddled John's legs.

"Oh, I've missed this a lot." Sherlock mumbled, looking down at John with dark eyes and a smirk on his face, his hands moving to John's belt to undo them and shifting slightly so he could tug them down. John willingly helped in kicking them off so that the two of them were left in merely their underwear and then pulled Sherlock down for a hungry kiss, a small moan lingering in his throat.

Sherlock kissed him back and began to grind his hips down against John's, their erections rubbing against each other through two layers of thin cotton, creating a glorious feeling. John responded with another louder moan as Sherlock simultaneously trailed his lips across John's jaw and down to his neck; sucking on a sweet spot above his collar bone.

"O-Oh..." John let his head fall back, allowing Sherlock better access to his neck. His hands ran up Sherlock's arms, over his shoulders and down his back, fingers lightly dancing over the scars that had been left there by Sebastian Moran. Sherlock felt shivers run down his spine simply at how gentle John's touch was and he responded by kissing the man underneath him gently on the lips.

John had had enough of Sherlock grinding on top of him, as they were both fully hard and desperate for further attentions. After all, they'd been starved of sex for a couple of weeks. Getting impatient and desperate, John flipped their positions, carefully lying Sherlock down on his back as he kneeled in between his legs. Sherlock was a little taken aback at the sudden action, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

Usually, he just took the lead in the bedroom, and John certainly didn't mind, but this time John _definitely _had a firm grip on the steering wheel, so to speak. He unceremoniously tugged down Sherlock's briefs, exposing his rock hard length. John's fist closed around it, elicting a short gasp from Sherlock, and he pumped with his fist slowly. He simultaneously reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of lube that had been placed there in preparation for...well, this. John squeezed some onto his fingers and then put a generous amount onto his own erection. He slowly inserted one finger into Sherlock, going slowly on purpose so as not to hurt him; after all it had been a while. The lean detective let out a slow breath, closing his eyes as John scissored his fingers, brushing them against that one spot that made him arch up with a groan.

After a minute or two, John couldn't wait any longer and quickly positioned himself readily at Sherlock's now slick entrance. He waited until Sherlock gave him a small nod before pushing all the way in. Sherlock's hands scrabbled at the sheets, grabbing fistfuls of the material as John slowly began moving.

"John..." he breathed, his body beginning to rock as John's pace increased, both men groaning and moaning each other's names in pure ecstasy. Due to the fact it had been a while for both of them, they knew it wouldn't last very long and Sherlock for one could feel himself already getting close to his climax.

"Jesus, Christ Sherlock..."

"I-I...oh, god..." he moaned, losing all control of his speech. John knew what he had been trying to say and had in response sped up his thrusts, reaching in between their bodies and wrapping a hand around Sherlock's cock, moving his fist up and down with expert like precision. Sherlock just lost it and arched his back as he came hard, for the first time in a few weeks. His vision went white and he lost all ability to make any kind of sound for a minute or two.

John followed him over the edge with a groan as he reached orgasm, proceeding to collapse onto the sheets, unable to hold himself up any longer. They both lay there for a good 5 minutes, just breathing heavily and getting their breath back. After a while Sherlock shifted so that his head was resting on John's shoulder.

"I love you..." he mumbled.

"You're still a bloody idiot, you know that?" John replied, smiling as he took one of Sherlock's hands in his own.

* * *

**AAAAND THATS IT! FINISHED! Thank you guys so much for sticking with me, I hope you enjoyed it! 3**


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